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Mr. Earnshaw had never been a kind father, his children knew that above anyone else. Their education boiled down to being berated whenever they got anything wrong, with him having to be pulled out of the room at times and replaced by a butler, or worse, Josephine herself.
Despite this, the two siblings had never been hit. They appreciated that, and Hindley especially appreciated being Mr. Earnshaw’s favored child. He got off relatively easy with things, especially compared to his younger sister, whom his father despised. He soaked in the love, savoring it between screaming matches and threats of violence.
But then, Mr. Earnshaw came home with a little girl instead of Hindley’s much desired violin.
How ironic, her name was Violet, like the instrument he’d been denied, like the flowers that littered the lawn outside. It was like she was made to be here, which only disheartened him further as he quickly fell out of favor with his father.
And soon, the beatings began.
They were quick to start off with. A slap whenever they’d mess up a maths problem, or a hand upside the head if they’d dared to stutter while reading. But, like all things, it got worse. Hindley’s hatred for Violet was obvious, she’d stolen Mr. Earnshaw’s love, and now Hindley was being hurt because of it. He couldn’t even walk into the same room as the old bastard without him threatening to beat the young fourteen year old with his cane. Even Catherine, that wild girl, was granted more affection.
Hindley?
Hindley was a brat, a troublemaker, and fresh bruises were granted to him near daily.
Violet? No, Violet was perfect. Violet could do no wrong, despite her being just as violent as Hindley, the two of them very often beating each other to the point of spilt blood. Catherine always tried to stop it, but it never really worked. They’d just continue to throw fists until Mr. Earnshaw came in and took his cane to Hindley’s back.
Hindley was no longer Mr. Earnshaw’s son, and he knew it. He’d been replaced by that girl, that wretched, horrible, disgusting mutt. He hated having to stand by and watch her get praise, being doted on, but he wasn’t stupid either. He watched, and he watched, and soon, he noticed things. Little things, but things all the same.
He noticed the way Violet would cringe whenever put into a dress, how she insisted on being dressed like a little boy instead of Mr. Earnshaw’s perfect daughter, how she’d keep her hair tied back out of her face, how she hated when anyone would touch it, how she hated anything ‘girly’, fighting back against Mr. Earnshaw’s wishes to teach her how to be a real girl.
He’d thought it was because she grew up in the filthy Backstreets. But of course, she wouldn’t know how to behave in this household. She’s not like them, she wasn’t raised in this home, but Hindley saw the tears in her eyes when she was forced into dresses, he saw how Mr. Earnshaw doted on her, to her distress. She hated it here, just like the rest of them. He refused to let her off easy, though it was obvious their fights were becoming fewer and less explosive, mostly due to Hindley cutting them short due to his father’s presence.
They all hated it in this manor, and he couldn’t ignore that.
The day itself had been rather normal, as normal as it could be with a father who wanted him dead. Hindley tried his best to not explode like he normally did, though he did still get in trouble after Violet gave him a bloody nose. It was fine, he was used to it. What he wasn’t used to, however, was the look on Violet’s face after one of Mr. Earnshaw’s passive comments.
“Your hair, dear. You mustn’t mess it up by roughhousing with that ungrateful child. Hindley is not somebody you should be associating with, do you understand?”
Violet’s gaze wasn’t fixed, no. She stared off at nothing, expression dark, yet neutral. Hindley didn’t know what it meant, but he knew to keep it in mind. You never know what may happen, after all. After his usual beating after these fights, he went back up to his room to change out of his bloodied shirt. He hated these things, truly. The blood never completely washed out, and their perfect noble white color only made it more obvious when he’d ruined them with his own tainted ichor.
He huffed. He glared down at the ruined shirt, before throwing it across the room with a soft thud, reaching for another one before being interrupted by a noise. The sound of quick, light footsteps hitting the wooden floor alerted him to someone running towards the bathroom, the door creaking but not shutting all the way. He shoved his arms into his new shirt, quickly and sloppily buttoning it up as he quietly wandered his way over.
The quiet, frustrated cries of Violet came from inside as she mumbled to herself. Hindley couldn’t help but eavesdrop, listening to her search around before finally finding an old pair of scissors that even he’d forgotten about.
While he may not have been able to see it, he sure did hear it. He heard her cutting, snipping, chopping off that mane she called hair. For maybe the first time she’d been here, he became nervous. Why the hell was he nervous, it wasn’t his problem what happened to her. She chose this, right? Father’s cane would hurt her just as it hurt Hindley himself, yet… a pit sank in his stomach at the idea.
As quick as he came, he left, making his way back to his room to readjust his, still quite poorly buttoned, shirt as he awaited the downfall of Violet.
This would be it. This would finally be it. Hindley would be the favorite child once more, and everything would be perfect. Violet would leave, like she’d never existed.
… and yet, is that what he really wanted?
As he listened in on his father shouting, no, screeching at the poor girl in the hallway, that feeling of dread returned. That same pit in his stomach.
It hurt.
He hated it.
“Father,” he walked out of his bedroom, into the hall, stepping between the small girl and the tall, imposing man. “It was me. I did it. I cut her hair. Okay? Stop screamin’ at her- it wasn’t her fault.”
And like that, a sharp crack echoed through the hallway, and Hindley hit the ground with a thud. Mr. Earnshaw had made one thing clear in the past, he never aimed for the head.
He’d broken that rule today.
It continued on longer than it normally did, with Violet standing there as witness to his father’s cruelty. Blow after blow, the cane eventually snapped. Only then did Mr. Earnshaw stop, breathing heavily.
“You are a wicked boy.”
With that, he walked away as if nothing had happened.
As if Hindley were simply a dog getting a beating for stealing food off of his master’s plate.
As if Hindley deserved it.
He did, didn’t he? He thought so, sometimes. It was hard to move, let alone stand. His head hurt horribly, and there was an obvious wetness coming from the side of it. He was glad Catherine hadn’t been there to watch, but Violet wasn’t much better.
He tried to move, but everything hurt too much to do so. He laid there for who knows how long, like a kicked dog, before he felt careful hands help him up. Violet slung his arm around her shoulders, helping the young boy to stand and soon, they made their way towards his room. Violet’s hair, now that Hindley could see it, had been cut rather short, just barely touching her neck, when it had been near her waist last time he checked. That didn’t quite matter anymore, though.
Violet helped Hindley, as injured as he was, sit down onto his bed. She wandered off, mumbling something about grabbing some bandages as he shakily unbuttoned his shirt, this being the second one he’s ruined today. He could hardly think straight, his brain feeling like a scrambled mess between the adrenaline and the possible concussion he’d sustained. Violet wasn’t long, Nelly having been the one to help her find what she needed. It was humiliating, really, having a small girl help to wrap his large open wounds. Every touch made him flinch, and every flinch made Violet let out a little huff.
“You’ll be fine. I’ve seen dogs more injured.”
“Yeah? Well, I ain’t a dog, am I?”
“... Mhm, sure.”
“Hey, the hell’s tha- ACK- fuck- be more careful!”
“Maybe you should stop moving as much.”
It was a constant back and forth bickering, though… There was a mutual truce at the moment. Silent, but very present. After Hindley’s bleeding wounds had been wrapped, Violet stayed, to his confusion.
“... Why’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Lie?”
Violet stared at Hindley’s face, watching him. He didn’t look at her, instead staring at the ground.
“... I dunno. Just… didn’t want y’ to get hurt, I guess.”
“But you hurt me all the time!”
“W-Well, that’s different… I don’t beat y’ with a cane while tellin’ y’ you’re a useless bastard of a child, ya know?”
Violet paused, before gingerly nodding.
“... yeah.”
Silence washed between the two of them again. It was awkward, with only the sound of Hindley’s strained breathing being audible.
“... I don’t like the name Violet, y’ know.”
Hindley perked up, glancing at Violet. Her face had twisted into that same focusless neutral stare she had before.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I hate it. It’s stupid, and it doesn’t fit me.”
“Really? I mean- it is rather dumb-”
“No, Hindley. Listen.” She stared at the boy, deadly serious. Silence filled the air again. “I’m not Violet.”
“... Alright then. So what?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem- Mr. Earnshaw wants me to be Violet, but I’m not Violet. I hate Violet. She’s stupid, and brash, and unlady-like.”
“Yeah, she is. She’s got a mean left hook, too.”
“Oh- quiet.” Between the dead silence, she couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “... Hindley, I don’t want to be his daughter. I don’t wanna be anyone’s daughter.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I wanna be someone’s son. I don’t wanna be Violet for any longer.”
“... So? Who are you? If y’ not Violet, well…”
“I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while,” the child hopped off of the bed, pacing in front of Hindley. Back and forth, as if planning to reveal some master scheme. “I just… I don’t know. Would Cathy be okay with…”
“... Tsk. Who cares what she thinks?”
“I do! I care!”
Hindley paused once more, before letting out a chuff.
“I doubt she’d mind much.”
“... Alright. I’ve decided. I’m not Violet anymore.”
“And?”
“I’m Heathcliff now. I’m not an Earnshaw either. Never was.”
Hindley stared at the determined child in front of him. He was almost impressed, really. How Vio- Heathcliff had planned this all out for so long… It was impressive. Sort of…
“That’s a boy's name, y’ know.”
“Exactly. I’ll be my own son. I don’t need Mr. Earnshaw- we don’t need Mr. Earnshaw.”
Hindley thought back on the bandages currently wrapping part of his head. The way his mind throbbed in pain, the way his body was covered in scars and bruises, the way his father had him lined up for an augmentation procedure soon, to prove he could be a ‘true man’.
“... Yer right. We don’t need ‘im.”
“... What about Cathy, though?”
“Tsk, have y’ met the girl? She’d be the first one to agree.”
“... I guess so,” Heathcliff mumbled, glancing away. She- no, he still wasn’t very confident in all of this, but… if Cathy agreed, the three of them could go out on their own, explore the City, escape this manor- anything except stay here.
Maybe then- Finally then, they’d be able to carve a new path for themselves, and escape out of these patches of violet that surround their home.
… what used to be their home.
~
[END]